


more than just blind luck

by ivefoundmygoldfish (melonpanparade)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blind Date, M/M, Matchmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:49:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2620679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonpanparade/pseuds/ivefoundmygoldfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is set up on a blind date, and Mummy refuses to tell him the other person’s identity. Strangely enough, Greg is being <i>very</i> supportive about the whole idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	more than just blind luck

Friday evening is usually Mycroft’s favourite time of the week—that is, when it is spent in the company of Greg, over drinks and stimulating conversation at the Diogenes. It most definitely is not his favourite time at this very moment; not when he is sitting in one of the club’s private rooms, unwillingly participating in a phone conversation with Mummy while he waits for Greg to arrive.

“—and I wholeheartedly believe he will be good for you. Consider it _._ ”

He figures he’s wasted enough time listening to Mummy’s ridiculous suggestion, so his reply is immediate and executed with the utmost deliberation. “I have considered it, and I refuse.” 

“Now, now, Mikey. I went through all the trouble to arrange this for you, so the very least you could do is meet this lovely, charming gentleman for your dear mother.”

“Mummy,” Mycroft says, adopting a long-suffering tone. “I don’t even know him. You won’t even tell me his name.”

“And that’s exactly the point of the meeting, Mikey,” she rejoins, mirroring the long-suffering tone. “To get to know each other.”

Mycroft tries another tactic. He does, after all, specialise in analysing situations and considering a range of alternatives to reach a desired outcome. 

“You are aware that tight security is imperative in my line of work—”

Unfortunately, Mummy is better.

“—not a problem. Obviously, his security clearance is nowhere near yours, but I believe it is enough. And before you faff about further by using the irregular working hours excuse—don’t deny it; I know you, Mycroft Holmes—this gentleman is _very_ understanding about the importance of serving the Queen and Country.” She pauses momentarily. Her voice takes on a softer quality when she continues. “I know how important that is to you.”

Someone in a similar line of work as he, then. And perhaps someone whose work hours are just as erratic as his own. Intriguing. Still, it's not enough to convince him that this is a good idea, especially when he has yet to learn the other person’s name.

“Why is it necessary to withhold his identity? I believe you would have a better chance at convincing me if I knew his name.”

“Very sneaky, Mike, but I’m still not telling. I thought you would appreciate a bit of mystery and variability in your life. I do imagine knowing and controlling everything would become boring rather quickly.”

“You and I both know Sherlock causes more than enough variation in my life.”

“Not the right kind,” Mummy argues.

“Clearly.”

The grand, wooden doors to the room open with a distinct creak, and Greg slips in—the second person, who, as of late, has been causing more variation in his life than Sherlock. Not that he’d ever mention that to his mother, though—his dear mother, who could talk someone’s ear off, if given the chance. And he has no intention of being the first to give her the opportunity.  

“Now if you’ll excuse me, Mummy, a most important and distinguished guest has just arrived. It would be quite rude to keep him waiting.”

Of course, Mummy _would_ use his own words against him in her efforts to get the last word in. “It would also be quite rude to let this respectable gentleman down, Mikey. I’ll be sending you the details soon. Good evening.”

“Completely unnecessary,” Mycroft protests. His only response is the harsh hang-up tone, and he glares at the mobile in his hand. He'd rather have a drink in his hand instead. A much-needed drink.

“Scotch, Gregory?”

Greg sinks into the chair opposite Mycroft, smiling warmly at him. “Yeah, I’ll have some, thanks.”

Mycroft pours some out for Greg, and then refills his own tumbler.

“So, a difficult conversation?” Greg prompts.

“The very worst,” he mutters, bringing the glass to his lips. “A blind date, purely orchestrated by Mummy’s usual meddling self.”

Greg takes a sip of his own drink. “And you’re not interested?”

“Gregory, look at me: I’m in my mid-forties, I have more padding around my middle than I would like, and my hair is thinning at an alarming rate—no thanks to Sherlock. My life primarily consists of ridiculous working hours surrounded by an ample dose of incompetency, and yet Mummy insists I meet this gentleman she assures me, and I quote, ‘is charming, kind, and clever, and a suitable match in every way.’ I don’t even know his name!”

“Sounds like a good deal to me,” Greg remarks idly.

“Pardon?”

Out of all of ways Greg could have answered, Mycroft definitely wasn’t expecting that. He was certainly not fishing for compliments, nor did he expect Greg to be strongly opposed—although admittedly, such an outcome _would_ be… desirable—but, well, he had hoped for some kind of resistance. Oddly enough, however, Greg appears to be rather supportive of the idea.

Mycroft furrows his brow. Greg is smiling, but there’s a fierce determination in the set of his jaw that usually precludes Greg’s stubborn, persistent argument for filial piety, and if anything, alcohol loosens his tongue and fuels his tenacity.

“I mean, the bloke sounds like a catch. And knowing your mother, she would be delighted if you indulged her just this once.”

“I believe you also said something along the same lines when she asked me to take her and Father to see Mamma Mia!, and the previous instance, the Phantom of the Opera.” Mycroft gives Greg an accusing glare over the top of his glass. “I never want to see another bloody musical in my life.” 

“Well, she _was_ delighted, wasn’t she?” Greg points out, grinning widely.

“I suppose.”

“And that made you happy too, didn't it?”

As much as Mycroft is loath to admit it, seeing his family happy (and safe) translates to his own happiness, too. “I suppose,” he says, this time with more reluctance than the last.  

“So, just think of it like… a business lunch, or something. It’ll be a piece of cake for you, with those diplomatic skills of yours, and your mother will be happy.”

Mycroft hmms and ahhs. While it would be a piece of cake, he really isn’t interested in having a date with someone he doesn’t know, so he hmms and ahhs some more until his mobile buzzes in his jacket pocket. He skims over the text from Mummy, and when he raises his eyes, Greg is leaning towards him, looking at him expectantly. Mycroft is positive his decision has less to do with his soft spot for his family and more to do with Greg's warm, brown eyes, because he finds himself unable to tear his gaze away.

“Fine, but just this once.”

 

* * *

 

Once again, Mycroft is reminded of the absurdity of this whole situation. The meeting place is nice—a small café bookshop tucked away in a quieter corner of London, which he has frequented several times before. However, he still doesn't know the mystery man's name, and nor does he know what or whom to look for. 

 _You can call me if you can't find him, but I think you'll know when you see him,_ Mummy had texted. Not informative in the least.

With a renewed effort to quell his rising irritation, Mycroft takes several more steps into the establishment, employing his skills in observation and deduction to search the tables and booths for his mystery man. It’s not the man hunched over his laptop, ignoring the coffee stain on his shirt sleeve in favour of staring out the window and then typing sporadically. He can definitely cross off the man reading ‘British History for Dummies’, too. The other two men in the café already have company, which leaves—oh.

_Oh._

“Gregory?” His initial surprise soon gives way to worry; after all, there is still a possibility that he could be mistaken, but then again, it _would_ explain why Greg had been so persistent in urging him to consider the blind date. Still, Mycroft doesn’t want to be presumptuous, and so he asks, “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you to sit down for our blind date.” Greg flashes Mycroft a cheeky grin, and laughter lines gather at the corners of his eyes—rich, brown eyes that shine bright with amusement, Mycroft notices, once he’s taken the seat opposite.

So, Greg is his mystery man—that much is obvious now—and Mycroft doesn’t know why that should come as a surprise, because past experiences have taught him that Greg is _always_ surprising.

And yet, Greg has never surprised Mycroft as much as he does in the next moment, when he opens his mouth and says, “Well, your mother already gave me her approval; now I just have to figure out how to get yours.”

Mycroft blinks several times, and then his mouth tips up into a smile. Yes, he is surprised, but he is also equal parts impressed and elated. “Oh, Gregory, you certainly _are_ clever. Charming, kind, and clever,” he murmurs, recalling what Mummy had said on the phone. Greg looks smug. “However, you’ve overlooked one important thing.”

“Which is?”

Mycroft reaches across the table and covers Greg’s hand with his own, squeezing gently. “I think you’ll find you already have my approval.”


End file.
